


Collapse into You (Pride Month)

by totallyrandom



Series: LGBTQ Days [16]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Coming Out, M/M, Or not, Sad, based on real life, but that's kind of not the point, i mean like need it to be for your own comfort in the face of this tragedy, like i said, or something, pulse nightclub shooting, so this can be preslash if you want it to be, the news from orlando today is fucking awful, this is not not-a-sterek story, this is the only way i could fucking deal with it, today fucked me up, unless you need it to be, whatever you find most comforting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-12
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2018-07-14 16:59:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7181381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/totallyrandom/pseuds/totallyrandom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The news today has fucked my shit up. This is not a happy story. This is not the fucking Pride story I wanted to write right now. But I had to get it out somehow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Collapse into You (Pride Month)

Derek and Stiles are huddled over a map of the preserve arguing about strategy, as usual, when it happens. Stiles’s phone buzzes and he pulls it from his pocket with a sigh, just hoping Scott isn’t whining at him about Allison or her father or his math homework again. Or bailing on their plans for Pride. He doesn’t have time for bro drama right now.

There’s a strategy half-forming as he glances at the screen quickly, ready to just confirm it’s not a 911 and get back to work without too much interruption. His breath catches when he sees the news alert from the _New York Times_.

“What. ... What’s wrong?” Derek asks, reaching toward Stiles’s arm but not quite making contact, like always. 

Stiles just turns his back and folds to the ground like a house of cards, unable to stop staring at the screen. Derek rushes to his side and crouches down to look over his shoulder; his brow furrows and he flexes his hand but doesn’t say anything. Stiles is silent too, still stuck in time staring blankly at the screen. 

Derek gets up and turns back to the table. Just stands there, hands braced on the edge, not noticing that he's crumpling one corner of the map. His head drops low as though the weight of the knowledge is a physical force, too heavy to bear. He breathes in counts of four. Breathing. Breathing. Breathing. Breathing. And otherwise unwilling to break the silence. What is there to say, anyway? 

Finally, Derek blows out a breath and nods to himself. He doesn’t want to know, but he has to find out. The news alert was truncated, saying only: “About 20 people were killed in a shooting at a gay Orlando … ”* 

Derek goes to the _Times_  online to read the story. The news is even worse now: The fatality total has been updated to 50, with another 53 wounded. His mind won’t focus well enough to read the whole article, but certain phrases jump out: “Islamic State terrorist group” and “gay nightclub” and “worst mass shooting slaughter in American history.” He can’t bear to read the rest. Just throws the phone down and drops his head to the table. 

The noise startles Stiles out of his stupor. Derek can smell the silent tears--faintly at first, and then overpowering--as Stiles start to sob. Derek turns back toward him, seeing that Stiles has managed to fold his long frame into itself, using his own body to shield himself from the world outside. Knees muffling his breath, arms wound tightly around his legs, knuckles white from how hard he’s gripping his elbows.

Derek jerks toward him, uncertain what to do. He feels like someone dropped a boulder onto his chest between one breath and the next. Their combined grief is a palpable force pushing down on him and in from all sides. He's gasping for breath now, eyes closed, so he doesn’t see it coming.

Suddenly, Stiles plows into his chest and Derek grabs at his arms reflexively for balance, but too late. They topple into the table and stay there, pressed against each other, too overcome to talk. What is there to say, anyway?

Later they’ll find the words. But for now they just huddle for a while before unfolding from each other, too wrung out to be embarrassed. Stiles asks first. Not in words, but the question is clear. Derek doesn’t say anything either, just nods and reaches for Stiles’s hand. 

Before today, Derek might have been surprised. Assumes Stiles would’ve been surprised about him, too. He wonders how long it would have taken them to come out if today hadn’t happened. Or if they just hadn’t been alone together when the news hit them both like a gut punch. 

That’s the thing about tragedy: it can tear you apart or bind you together. Derek’s so fucking tired of bearing things alone. And now maybe he doesn’t have to. 

Derek tugs on his hand to relocate them to the couch, and Stiles folds himself inside the protection of Derek’s arms. The sound of each other breathing helps soothe them both--just enough to keep the weight from smothering them.

**Author's Note:**

> * I reworded the [NYT news alert](http://www.nytimes.%20com/2016/06/13/us/orlando-nightclub-shooting.html), which actually said: “About 20 people were killed in a shooting at an Orlando nightclub, police say. They called it a ‘terror incident.’” (Maybe that was before they knew it was a gay Latinx crowd?) 
> 
> Also, I saw it on my laptop, so I’m not sure where it would have been cut off if I’d seen it on my phone first.
> 
> I'm not really sure why I felt the need to share that. Like I said, today has fucked my shit up. Maybe because Boston Pride was just fucking yesterday.
> 
> ***
> 
> I got a comment on Tumblr saying "Don't be THAT FAN. Don't make this tragedy about your fucking slash ship. Real people's blood is on the ground. Show some respect, some common human fucking decency."
> 
> Here's the deal: This story wasn’t about my ship. This story was about me and my community. I realize I’m not in Orlando, so it’s not in my physical community. And I was pretty upset about the movie they’re doing about the Boston marathon bombing, so I kind of get it. 
> 
> But this is a tragedy in my queer community. Boston Pride was just fucking yesterday. For all that it’s happening on the other side of the country, it feels pretty fucking close to home. 
> 
> So I chose to get my fucking pain out in the only way I know how, which is through writing fic. I saw something saying that some people might be discovering that someone they know was part of the LGBTQ community when they're notified that the person was a victim of the shooting. And someone else was reminding us that shit like this is why we have Pride. That now is the time to come together and support each other. So I was thinking about all that and this story is what happened. 
> 
> I’m truly sorry if my way of dealing with my pain hurts someone else. Maybe I should have written it and kept it to myself. But I thought it might help someone else feeling the same way I am today. And the fic is pretty clearly tagged, so ...
> 
> As always, if you disagree with me on something, feel free to comment and you might change my mind.
> 
> ***
> 
> Melissa Etheridge wrote this song in response to the shooting. It's lovely: <https://soundcloud.com/melissaetheridge/pulse>


End file.
